


Nightcap

by darkwood



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:39:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwood/pseuds/darkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories about drinking in Kirkwall. Mostly Act One at this point. At least 5 chapters. I'll update as I go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aggregio Pavali

         The first thought Elodie ever had about Fenris was, _By the Maker, those tattoos are gorgeous._ It was such a strong thought that it arrested the flow of her conversation, something that was usually impossible to do. She recovered, glad of the cover of darkness to hide the blush to her cheeks, and pressed onwards.

         It was only as they left, the sour taste of Fenris’ denouncement of Bethany bitter in the back of her throat, when Elodie looked over her shoulder at his relaxed figure that his appearance again struck her. They said goodnight to Varric and Aveline and headed back to the miserable hovel that Gamlen lived in. There just wasn’t much to be said. A lot of shades were dead, along with a few demons and a possessed guard or seven. Despite her snappy attitude in Hightown, Bethany was tired. Elodie was tired as well, she just… was distracted.

         Only as she was taking her armor off did Bethany speak up. “He was a nice looking elf, was he?”

         “Oh don’t start in on that.” Of course Bethany had noticed how she looked at him. That was what sisters were for, wasn’t it? Noticing the worst things about you that you wanted kept secret and pointing them out to you so you could laugh with them about it.

         “I always thought your taste was more towards the tall dark and a wall of muscle. That… Fenris is a little thin for you, isn’t he?”

         Or, sometimes, twisting the knife in the open wound.

         “I’m not going to talk about this,” Elodie said.

         “Why not? You always shared before. I’m the innocent one, remember, I have to live vicariously through your exploits.”

         “You’re the _young one_ ,” Elodie corrected. “And it’s time for bed. We’ve got more work to do tomorrow, and you’re always weak if you don’t get enough sleep.”

         They headed back into their shared room, Ulster following along behind them, and Bethany climbed up into her bunk. Despite protests that she wasn’t tired, she was soon snoring softly. Elodie knew it would be like that. Bethany played brave, but she always listened when what she was being told to do was good for her. Ulster climbed into her bunk, making space for himself by the wall.

         Convinced Bethany was asleep above her, Elodie leaned back in bed and let her mind drift. The Fade would not have her that evening, though. As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw a pair of hazel eyes, and silver tattoos drawing curved lines down from a strong mouth.

         The image of Fenris was as real as though he were there with her, and it made the dingy bed seem better.

         It was ridiculous, of course. The brooding elf had seemed unsociable, despite his thanks for the assistance. He hadn’t even taken her words well, but there was some awkwardness in his reception of it. Either he hadn’t understood or his interest in her was very low. Her blade, she reasoned, was more important than the rest of her. Except perhaps her arms, those would help move the blade about efficiently.

         Knowing his lack of inclination didn’t stop the vision of him. The full lips above her own, the silver lines down his chin. Her mind was beneath his armor, already, wondering where else those lines were than on his arms. Her imagination drew swirls on his bare torso, and she lifted her hands as though she could feel him. Elodie couldn’t help but wonder if the marks felt different. His skin was raised, but was it cooler or warmer?

         Her mind supplied warmth, if only because that was what would feel nicest against her skin. She could feel him against her now, as though he had leaned down, her skin tingled as though it were bare. The imagined heat of his flesh was a precious torment, and her hands glided the span of her that he would be against. How warm his kiss would feel, first to her neck, then to her collarbone. She could not see Fenris beginning any other way than with his lips to her skin. Her mouth parted, and she imagined the feel of his hair on her skin as his mouth descended across her torso.

         The first moan out of her mouth was loud enough that Bethany stirred in the bed above her. “If you’re going to…” Bethany yawned, “get that worked up about it…”

         Ulster made a soft wuffing noise of agreement, and it was suddenly far too much scrutiny. Ripping the covers off, Elodie rose from bed in her embarrassment. She headed over for her armor, knowing better than to walk the streets of Kirkwall alone without it at this hour. Ulster made to get up and follow her, but she ordered him softly, “Stay.”

         Elodie ought to have just enough coin to… solve the problem. That is, if she could stomach the cure this time. And if she was going where she thought she was going, she didn’t want any witnesses at all.

         Bethany’s sleepy, amused voice followed her out the door as she fled with, “Just be careful out there.”

         Elodie was not good at heading to the brothel, and she knew it. There had never been one in Lothering, though there were a few who supplied the service of one. Elodie hadn’t needed their services. She was attractive, she was fit, and there were several boys about her age before her father had taken ill. There hadn’t been anything serious – years of fleeing in the middle of the night with the family had squashed any expectations about that in Elodie – but she was rather fond of a few of them, and there had been time enough to learn a thing or two, before…

         After father had died, there was no time for anything. There was farming, and training, and then there were jobs to keep them fed. She and Carver had seized the opportunity to join the army, assuring enough money to keep mother and Bethany safe. Then it was just a lot of running.

         Once they’d reached Kirkwall, she’d gone out searching for something to take her mind off of all that had been lost when they fled Ferelden. Once it was obvious that she was not going to be sampled by the Red Iron anymore than she’d been willing to trade ‘favors’ with the guard at the Gallows, and they had learned the prowess of her blade, it had been as it was in Lothering. She became like a sister to them by about the eighth month, and when her moodiness lasted beyond the press of the bloodlust she needed as a mercenary, they pointed her in the direction of the red light district. One of the other mercenaries had even given her two sovereigns and told her to ‘treat herself’, though he was likely motivated by an overly ferocious retort she’d made when she found him slinking along and picking over the bodies she and Bethany had dropped on a job.

         As their custom was not to leave Bethany by herself, Aveline stayed behind when Elodie decided to try and take the edge off, though from the look on the redheaded woman’s face, she obviously disapproved of what Elodie was off to do. Bethany just snickered at her. On a precious night off, a night after they’d all had dinner with Leandra Elodie pulled on her armor and headed out to the Blooming Rose. She was nervous enough, guilty at going to a whorehouse after having supper with her mother, that she laced her armor sloppily. There was no helping the timing. They simply had few days that were truly ‘off’.

         The establishment itself made Elodie a bit uncomfortable. She’d not been sure what to ask for or if she should even be there. The mistress of the Blooming Rose had little time to ease her into the scenario, and she’d turned and fled. Aveline was mollified by her reaction, though Bethany was confused. Elodie promised her sister she’d explain ‘some day’ and left it at that. Unable to tell her fellow mercenary what had transpired, she’d waited a few weeks and returned the coin that she’d been given.

         Tonight’s walk was not much different from that terrible one she’d tried to do the night she’d been given the borrowed coin. She wore hastily laced armor, her hair was a mess, and she really ought to have bathed. She was crossing Hightown watching her footsteps instead of looking out for potential trouble, which was a bad idea born out of a years’ old bad habit. She wished Varric hadn’t gone back to the Hanged Man so promptly, she could have used his company. It would have kept her from… this. Her stomach ached with the feeling, and her palms itched beneath her gloves.

         Had she been her normal self, she would have seen Fenris instead of all but knocking him over.

         The elf dodged her, a blue glow coating every inch of him. It was the flash of the lyrium light that drew Elodie’s attention. Looking up, she found herself face to face with the hazel eyes she’d been fantasizing about.

         Fenris’ brows drew together in confusion, and his lips moved. Elodie stared at them, and it took a moment or the words he was saying to register. Fenris repeated himself, “I had assumed you’d be home in bed by now, Hawke.”

         “You’ve never seen where I live then,” Elodie said, managing to get the joke out in some semblance of her normal tone. “You wouldn’t say that if you had.”

         “I found myself… rather tired after the battles this evening, but somehow unable to sleep.” Fenris tipped his head slightly. “You are… out alone.”

         “Taking a walk to… clear my head,” Elodie said. She adjusted her gauntlets to give herself something to look at that wasn’t his face.

         “The amount of bandits at the hour ought to discourage both of us,” Fenris said. “We are tired and not at our best strength. Easy prey.”

         “I don’t think you’re the sort of man I’d ever call easy prey, Fenris,” Elodie said, wishing that didn’t sound like so much of a line. “Tired or otherwise…”

         “Mm,” he replied, nodding at that and seeming pleased by it. He shifted on his feet.

         “Well,” Elodie said, convinced this was some sort of divine punishment for attempting to go solve her problems at the brothel, “it _is_ late, and I should be-”

         “Would you like a drink, Hawke?”

         Elodie didn’t know what answer she gave, but it must have been affirmative because when he started walking and she didn’t follow, he looked back at her in confusion. She jogged the few steps to catch up, and the two of them headed through the quiet streets of Hightown. He opened the door at Dannarius’s ruined mansion, letting them both in, and she tried not to read into this invitation. Fenris barely acknowledged personal conversation, let alone flirtation. It wasn’t like he’d invited her to…

         Too late.

         Her brain supplied two strong hands on her arms, pressing her back against the door as his mouth fitted on hers. His armor would be cold, stiff against her own, but the leather would give, and his hips would be against hers.

         The door he pushed open creaked. The noise was loud enough to call her thoughts back to where she was. She stared at her feet as they headed up the stairs in the mansion, unwilling to stare at Fenris’ back as they made their way up the stairs because she knew right where her mind would skip happily off to if she did.

         Fenris lead the way into one of the rooms, and Elodie followed, concentrating on not tripping over her feet. She wanted to say more, she wanted to grab him by the arms and pull him to her so she could taste him on her lips, but she stamped out the urge. A bottle came into view, and she glanced up at him before taking it.

         “Try it,” he said, moving over to light the fire in the hearth.

         Finding her way to the chair closest the fire, Elodie settled down. It was colder in here than she’d anticipated, and she was glad when the fire took to the wood. She uncorked the bottle and sniffed it before taking a sip. It didn’t taste poisoned, at least, but it was so dark that it was hard to tell.

         “There’s a case of it,” Fenris said, coming over closer to her and taking the chair opposite, a bottle in his hand as well. He knocked it back, the wine dribbling down his chin as his lips let go of the bottle.

         To cover how she was staring, Elodie took a longer swig from the bottle. There was some bitterness to the taste, but also an underlying sweetness that washed against her throat pleasantly.

         “It’s good,” she said, surprised at how well she liked the taste of it. There had been little difference to her between mead and wine and ale, before. Drinking was for getting drunk, and all three could accomplish the task provided varying amounts were applied to the drinker.

         “I thought you might like it,” he acknowledged, one forearm wiping the wine from his chin. He stared at the bottle for a long moment and took another drink.

         There wasn’t much to say, at that point. Elodie felt awkwardness creeping up on them, and didn’t know how to forestall it. She took off her gauntlets, turned the chair towards the fire, and had another drink of wine. That was easy enough to do, and he seemed intent on the bottle he was drinking from.

         Fenris mimicked her actions, dragging his chair closer to the only warmth in the room, and lifted both brows when Elodie kept matching him drink for drink.

         The hour, the exhaustion, the wine and the fire all worked their magic on Elodie. The awkwardness dissipated, taken over by inebriation. She bit her lip to keep from spouting out nonsense at him, and Fenris seemed content to sit quietly and drink while watching the fire. By the time both their bottles were empty, Elodie’s head hung heavily against the back of her chair. She didn’t realize she was drifting off until his low voice roused her.

         The words were fluid and unfamiliar. Half-asleep, Elodie barely caught them before he fell silent. “… Fenris?” she asked.

         “I do believe you’re drunk, Hawke.”

         “A full bottle of wine after midnight will do that to most people, I suspect,” she replied, sitting up with a soft groan. “I should… probably get home. Mother and Bethany…” A frown marred his beautiful lips, and Elodie blinked as she caught the look. “Fenris?”

         “Yes,” he said, looking up at her. “Your family will likely wonder where you are.”

         Rather than go into, again, how Bethany was a mage or how dangerous she was, Elodie stood up. It had been strangely… companionable for the quiet hour of drinking. Fenris’ company was entirely unlike Varric’s. The dwarf had something interesting to hear no matter what had happened, and an hour was rarely spent in silence with him. Over the course of the silence, as the weight of the wine had sunken into her, she’d been forced to acknowledge how different Fenris was from anyone else she knew.

         He was handsome, and she was attracted to him. It almost hurt how much she wanted to feel him against her, how much she wanted him to look her in the eye with the desire she felt staring back at her. But Fenris was not the sort of man that she thought would ever come to that… he would not be easy prey, and he would not be won without struggle.

         The confusing frown cooled her heels enough that she turned from him, heading through the mansion without so much as a ‘goodnight’ to her drinking companion. Things were fuzzy, and the world was a little off-balance. Heading down the steps and around the turns that took her to the door was a challenge. Maker help her if she ran afoul of anyone on her way back to Lowtown. What was in that wine?

         Outside the chill of night struck her in the face, and she sobered enough to walk straighter. She nodded to the guard as she headed along her way, glad to have befriended them since her initial bad impression from her arrival if only to know that she was more likely to make it back home without incident. And, somehow, she did. The streets were remarkably empty of thugs, all the way to Gamlen’s shack.

         Finding her room, Elodie stumbled out of her armor and fell into bed hard enough to rattle the wooden frame. Overhead a sleepy mumble from Bethany was unintelligible. Ulster shifted, curling around her with warmth that she wished for from Fenris in that room.

         Fenris.

         As her eyes closed, Elodie pictured the dribble of wine that had tracked from the corner of Fenris’ mouth down to his chin, and sighed in frustration.

         “Maker help me,” she thought, “I’ve got it bad.”


	2. Chapter 3 - Ale

         “Are we sure he was _really_ a slave?” Varric asked, surveying the mess that had been made behind the Hanged Man. “He certainly holds his own, and I was always under the impression that slaves were meek and oppressed.”

         An angry growl came out of Fenris at that, and Hawke glared at Varric. “Now may not be the best time for that,” Elodie said, “he did just fell an entire company of Carta head hunters.”

         “Hard to miss that,” Varric replied, “he’s repainted the back of the tavern with their blood.” Aveline made a noise that was somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “Don’t worry, this is the last place to be checked, and these are the last people that will be missed.”

         “I just don’t fancy the idea of the mercenaries working for slavers.”

         “I’ll just ask them to stop, shall I?” Elodie asked. Shaking her head, she moved to check on Fenris. The silver-haired elf was leaning against the red-splattered wall, chin dipped towards his chest. There was so much blood it was hard to tell if it was his or not. “Fenris…?”

         When she’d seen Fenris in the midst of the slavers, she’d acted without too much thought. When she’d moved, so had Varric and Aveline. Only Anders stood still behind them, as though he knew some reason for caution that Elodie did not. The taciturn mage had only acted when his companions suffered blows from their enemies. Now he stood behind Elodie as she checked on the elf, watching.

         “I’m fine,” came the gruff response from the elf. Fenris straightened off the wall as soon as Elodie reached for him, turning to head for the door of the tavern.

         “If _that’s_ fine,” Varric said, “then I’ve got a darkspawn free thaig I’ve an interest in. Anyone buying?”

         “You always seem to have something for me to invest in,” Elodie replied.

         Varric rewarded her with a smile. “For you, Hawke,” he said with a smile, “only the best.”

         Aveline rolled her eyes tolerantly, shifting. “What were we out for tonight again, Hawke?” she asked. “Standing around in all this blood reminds me too much of home.”

         Elodie chuckled at that and shook her head. “Another time,” she said, glancing at Anders. “After this the guard’s liable to have it in for us, and given what we have in store, it wouldn’t do to have them nearby…”

         “Fine,” Anders said. “But remember, this is my price for the maps you want so desperately.” He turned on his heel, heading off down the street.

         “Someone’s jealous,” Varric chuckled.

         “Well if that’s settled… Come and find me when you need me, Hawke,” Aveline said with a nod to the other woman. The guardswoman left in the opposite direction, heading for Hightown and most likely the barracks.

         “Let’s go check on the elf,” Varric said, wiping a blood splatter off Bianca and gesturing for Hawke to lead the way.

         Elodie nodded, though she wasn’t sure how comfortable she was talking to Fenris with Varric along. She flicked blood off her greatsword and headed around the tavern with the dwarf. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

         “Trust me, Hawke,” Varric said, “the broody elf is going to need some company after that, if only to slip a healing potion into his ale.”

         Not liking the sound of that, Elodie quickened her step as they rounded the building, coming up the stairs to the front. They entered the tavern, and sure enough, Fenris had slumped his way into a seat at a corner table. “I hate it when you’re right,” she said to Varric as the two of them crossed. “Act normal.”

         “Those aren’t the words you should use,” he replied, tone easy as they approached. “Because what comes after always sounds awkward. Or painful. Possibly both.”

         “I did not ask for your company,” Fenris grumbled.

         “Are we unwelcome, then?” Elodie asked, one hand on the chair next to him, as though if her question was rejected she would leave. Varric didn’t bother asking, he settled down in the chair across from the elf.

         “It would seem I do not have much choice,” Fenris said.

         Hawke took the chair, nodding to Norah. The barmaid came over with ale shortly thereafter, and they sat drinking.

         “So those-” Varric started.

         “Slavers,” Fenris finished for him.

         “Right, those. Were they after you personally or..?”

         “I need no special reason to put an end to slavers.”

         “Fair enough,” Varric replied. “But a whole gang at once is-”

         Fenris looked up, green eyes angry, but Hawke cut them both off with, “Reckless.”

         The two men looked at her, and she sipped her ale.

         “Easy on the mug there, Hawke,” Varric said.

         “I threw up _once_ ,” she protested. She could feel Fenris’ eyes on her.

         The elf watched the exchange, almost as though he had something to add. Elodie knew that was impossible. She’d been on her best behavior when she’d been to his mansion. She’d only thrown up on her way down to Lowtown.

         “So you say,” Varric replied. “It’s a matter of _when_ and _where_ you threw up.”

         “Details, details,” Hawke retorted, shaking her head.

         Fenris was still watching her.

         “You’re as fond of them as I am,” Varric replied, sipping his ale. “I’m just pointing out that if you drink too much, this whole ‘cheer up the elf’ thing isn’t going to work so well.”

         “You are here to ‘cheer me up’?”

         “No,” Hawke said quickly. “Not in… so many words. You’re bleeding.” Hawke winced as she said it, shaking her head. “I mean you just had quite a fight, and we’re making sure you’re ok.”

         “I did not engage in that battle to draw you from your business,” Fenris replied. His brow lifted. “If Aveline was with you, I’m certain it was important.”

         “Deep Roads necessary,” Varric said. Something caught Varric’s attention. “Excuse me,” he said, rising and taking his ale with him, a charming call of, “Whittaker, you old fool!” springing from his lips as he went.

         Hawke was rather surprised at finding herself alone with Fenris. Surprised and yet… not. This was the sort of thing that Varric would enjoy her dealing with on her own. He certainly must suspect how she… She sipped her ale to cut off that thought, and found that Fenris was still regarding her.

         “Something to do with the Deep Roads expedition you mentioned?”

         “Yes,” Hawke replied. “We’re going to need maps, and the only one who has something like that is the Grey Wardens. Well there’s one in Lowtown, and he-”

         “There is a Grey Warden in Lowtown?”

         “He came in with refugees,” Hawke said, “and he-”

         “Why would a Grey Warden be a refugee from a land suffering the Blight?” Fenris tipped his head as he thought about it, green eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.

         “I hadn’t really asked,” Hawke sighed, obviously not going to make it any farther until Fenris had exhausted his curiosity about this. “I’m less concerned with how he got here and more concerned that he has maps we need.”

         “I see.”

         “I’m certain you’ll meet him soon enough,” Hawke said, sipping her ale. “He’s quite a healer, and he’s got wicked aim with a firebolt.”

         “He’s a mage.”

         The way that Fenris snarled those words drew Hawke short in her description of Anders’ prowess. She dared a glance at him, and despite the pallor of his usually swarthy skin, he seemed to almost be glowing with anger. “Fenris…”

         A powerful shove of both his hands against the table brought Fenris to his feet. He started to stomp away from the table, but his knees went weak after he wobbled a few steps.

         Without thinking, Hawke rose after him, catching him by the arms. “Easy there,” she said, noticing that she was using the same chiding tone she often did with Bethany, “don’t overdo it so soon.”

         The glow on his skin flared in response, and Fenris staggered a step forward, snatching himself from her grip. “I have overdone _nothing_ ,” he snapped at her. His venom seemed to calm when he turned to glare at her and was greeted with a confused expression. “Goodnight, Hawke.”

         Hawke stood still, watching as Fenris left the Hanged Man. Norah came by to check on her, either being a sweetheart or worried that there would be no payment for the ale that the three of them had drunken so far. Hawke gave her some coppers before turning to look for Varric.

         The dwarf in question was amidst several people now, obviously discussing something, and Hawke knew he was probably talking about her. Once he noticed her gaze on him, he mouthed ‘where’s the elf?’ to her.

         She shook her head in response.

         Varric wrapped up whatever story he was telling and left his audience to return to her. “I take it something went amiss?”

         “With Fenris,” Hawke said, “it seems something is always amiss. I understand that he has the markings and that they were made by a mage-”

         “Do you?” Varric asked. “Do you truly, Hawke? If Sunshine is any example, mages from your family are outstanding people with iron will. Not all mages are like that. And even if Fenris wanted to forget what he knew, it’s not like he can get away from it.”

         “I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” Hawke retorted with a sigh. “Must you make… sense?”

         That got a laugh out of Varric. “I promise not to make a habit of it,” he said, holding a hand up. “But you looked like you needed a little perspective.”

         “What I _need_ is for him not to glow at me.” Hawke sighed, rubbing her hands together. Fenris shouldn’t be allowed to glow like that outside of battle. It was… too exotic looking.

         Varric’s expression sobered. “Usually he only glows when he’s going to kill something.”

         “Well, I’m fortunate then,” Hawke replied, “he _did_ just kill something.”

         “Most fortunate,” Varric agreed. He nodded towards the door. “But it looks like you’ll be heading home.”

         “Why would I-” Hawke turned, only to find Bethany standing in the doorway waiting to catch her eye. “Goodnight, Varric,” she said before crossing to her sister. She knew that look. Nothing good was ever waiting to be said when Bethany wore it.

         “Tell me,” Hawke said quietly as she neared Bethany.

         “It’s not so bad,” Bethany replied, “I promise it’s not. I just couldn’t bear another hour of listening to mother and uncle Gamlen fight about things tonight.”

         “So you… thought you’d come to the Hanged Man alone on a night when Varric and I were about other business?” Elodie asked with a quirked brow. “Not in line with our ‘lay low’ approach.”

         Bethany winced a little. “I had to get out of that shack,” she said with a shake of her head. “It was intolerable. I hate… even the thought of calling it home,” she said.

         Elodie couldn’t argue with that. She reached out and squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “Come on then,” she said, motioning with her head towards the door. “Let’s head down to the docks and see what sort of trouble we can get into.”

         “ _Hawke_ ,” Varric said in a chiding tone.

         “ _Varric_ ,” Elodie replied.

         “Nice to see you two are back to normal,” Bethany quipped.

         “It’s the middle of the night, and I don’t think you want to take on a whole band of slavers on your own.”

         “I think we’re fresh out of slavers tonight, Varric,” Elodie said. “Fenris took care of that.”

         “Fenris? What does this have to do with him?”

         “The elf just about killed himself laying waste to a gang of slavers that he ran into.”

         “And you want to go for a walk at the docks now?” Bethany asked her sister, shaking her head. “Honestly, Ellie,” she said, “you usually have more sense than that.”

         “I just don’t see why Fenris gets all the fun,” Elodie said. She held a deadpan expression when the two of them stared at her incredulously.

         Varric laughed first when her lips quirked a little in a smile. “Being around you definitely keeps things interesting,” he said with a shake of his head. “Now don’t worry Bianca,” he added. “Stay for a few drinks, Sunshine. By the time you’re done either Gamlen will have joined us and it’ll be quiet at the shack, or you won’t care what they’re talking about when you get there.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m personally going to paint Aggregio Pavali as a Dragon Age version of Brunello di Montalcino, which is purported to be a very fine, very expensive wine from a dry area near Tuscany.


End file.
